Surrealist Poetry by Siri

I sometimes tell my phone to write things down while I'm driving.  It doesn't always hear what I say correctly and I always forget to erase the note. If someone looked in my phone they might assume I keep a bunch of surrealist poetry in there. I present to you 5 lists I have very few clues to. I can tell you I think List #6 is likely a love poem.

List #1
Don't frack me bro

Luna film fest

Blue tape
Sort toys
Grocer

List #2
La vie en rose

When I'm small
Dancing rhinos
Minute man
Of very true

List #3

Ferrymen Antelope

List #4
Hungarian Raspsody

1141 Main
Wireless hifi please

Multivitamins full set of Autobons
Salmon yes, tuna & yellow tail no

List #5
Of Maillach and Sherman
Louis the magician 773822917
Popcorn

List #6
Ella
Jack 

Wednesday
Thomas' heart
Tim Stotz
Gulf Shores
Bikes

Jack Says:

Regarding the tag in the back of his shirt: This shirt has skeeto bites in it.

***

When my stomach was growling: Your body is telling you it's hungry.  Get a bread, I don't want to hear your body anymore.

***

Slow on the Draw

"GRESHAM, Ore. (KOIN 6) — A man practicing his open carry right was robbed of the gun he was openly carrying.

William Coleman III was robbed of his Walter- brand P22 just after 2:00 a.m. October 4 in Gresham by a young man who asked him for it — and flashed his own weapon as persuasion.

Coleman, 21, was talking to his cousin in the 17200 block of NE Glisan St., after purchasing the handgun earlier that day, when a young man asked him for a cigarette, police said.

The man then asked about the gun, pulled a gun from his own waistband and said “”I like your gun. Give it to me.”

Coleman handed over the gun and the man fled on foot.

The suspect is thin a black male, between 19 and 23 years old, clean cut with a small patch of facial hair on his chin, and short black wavy hair.

He is roughly six feet tall, wearing grey sweatpants, a white T-Shirt and flip-flop sandals.

The weapon he used in the robbery was described as a possibly semi-automatic, black gun, Gresham Police said."

***

Sledding

We stopped thirty-eight times to get the snow out of a wrist cuff and drink hot cocoa.

Waiting

I was watching snow fall to the left, swiftly change direction and flit right on the endless breath of wind responsible for the biting chill in my hands.  The old mechanic scurried to and fro past the open door, grabbing potions and oils, tools and rags while I rubbed my hands together trying to warm them.  Boat propellers and trap shooting trophies filled dusty shelves next to a pot of coffee I'm sure hadn't been washed since my last oil change. I spent a long time looking at the tall cardboard tube of Domino Sugar imagining it being grabbed several times a day dispensing into thick cups of burned and sour coffee.  It's letters rubbed off and the dark oil of machinery and human fingers layered into a fine shiny amalgamation across the side.  I recognized my car's engine running in the next room and looked up in time to see the mechanic rushing back and forth again, raising my hopes. It was another thirty minutes of watching the snow agitate through the glass and uselessly rubbing my hands together before I would make my escape.

We Are Not Singing This Year

Photo has nothing to do with story, I just liked it.

I always mean to make a great Christmas post but it doesn't happen.  The season is going so fast with such twists and turns that it's all I can do to keep from getting whiplash much less pausing to carefully write my thoughts on the season.  Just when the Holidays wrap up, it's my eldest's birthday which I always go to extra efforts to observe lest it be overshadowed by the above mentioned festivities.

This year we considered a sledding party until the actual snow came.  It was accompanied by negative temperatures and meaner wind-chill factors.  We opted for a good old fashioned house party.  We are in fact inviting boys to this one.  No biggie, they just happen to be friends that are also boys.  We also are not having cake... well, maybe cup cakes but they're going to be cool NOT cute. We aren't singing any happy birthday songs and mostly we'll just be hanging out and maybe playing some music.  Maybe we'll make a play list, and have some dub step, and maybe Uncle Joe will bring over his laser music light show and a black light and a disco ball, just in case anyone feels like dancing or something or whatever.

By February, I'll be officially ready for a couple chocolate hearts chased with a green beer.

The Zen of Beard Trimming

This is the cover art I was honored to do for C.J.'s book. There's only a week left to order a copy.

Order your copy of this book HERE

“The Zen of Beard Trimming: Stories of Punk Rock, Poverty, and the Search For Peace” the personal memoir memoir of speaker, writer, and activist C.J. Campbell. C.J. wakes up every day with the weight of the world on his shoulders; shoulders held up by a pair of crutches. The book is a journey of trying to navigate a world not built for him as walks through life with Cerebral Palsy questioning everything from Capitalism to the very existence of God. When Campbell is not looking for love with Scandinavian models and a good burrito. He looks to smash the social constructs and apathy by any means necessary. If it means putting his own body on the line by walking 75 miles. This irreverent, brash, and at times heartbreaking memoir also includes a foreword by co-founder of Invisible Children and creative force behind the infamous viral documentary “Kony 2012,” Jason Russell."

childhood idols

Gilligan was a pot head
Vinnie Barbarino is in a cult
Mork committed suicide
Fat Albert is a rapist
The ghost of Jack Tripper is all I have left